Bone Snow

by David Haynes

  “What’s that stuff on his face?”

  Leo leaned closer, against his better judgment. Sota’s neck was twisted, not quite all the way around but close enough. Lines of ink ran up his throat to his cheek, where they rose to the skin in blooms of mold.

  He pulled away. The mold seemed to be moving, growing and squirming. It looked alive.

  “I think we should just leave him be. Let the authorities or Ookami deal with him.”

  “No argument from me,” Chris replied.

  They turned in unison and as they did, they both jumped in shocked surprise. The woman was on her feet, standing at the threshold of her alcove. Her head was bowed.

  “My baby,” she said softly.

  “Your baby?” Leo said.

  She ignored him, staring downward at the snow by her feet.

  A line of fine and powdery snow trailed her, caught up in the blanket. Her feet were hidden but they must have been child-like. They made no mark in the churning snow left in her wake.

  Leo watched her, checking for signs of the crone that had been there a few minutes before. He saw nothing but a frightened young woman.

  “Think we should tell the others?”

  She stood perfectly still. Maybe she was ill? A mental breakdown or something, perhaps. She wasn’t acting like anyone he’d met before, but perhaps that’s what spending time on the street with a baby did to you. Trusting anyone would be a giant leap for her. One she obviously wasn’t ready to make. They should just leave her well enough alone and when the time came and the doors opened, she could go on her merry way. There was plenty to worry about without taking on her problems too.

  “I think we should just leave her alone. She doesn’t want anything to do with us and she’s probably safer being as far away from Kenta as she can get.”

  11

  They covered Michelle in an old rug they found down there and carried her to the other end of the basement. It didn’t matter what Ookami wanted now; the cops were coming and they were going to have some questions for all of them. Particularly Kenta.

  “Take this.” Ookami pulled a money clip out of his pocket and slid out a hundred dollar bill. He put it on the counter. “Two bottles of the Scottish Malt.”

  The bottles were dusty. Leo couldn’t recall a time when he’d sold a single one. He pulled down the bottles and put them on the counter. Ookami took one and left the other. “I think we all need a drink,” he said, peeling off the plastic seal. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

  Leo left the other bottle where it was. “What are you going to do with him?” He nodded at Kenta. The man was lying on the mattress, propped up on an elbow. He was staring at Leo through swollen eyes.

  “He won’t cause any more problems.”

  Leo looked about the room. Sam was leaning on the refrigerators. His puffy eyes were trained on Kenta and nothing else. The grief had gone from his eyes, but something else had taken its place. Something that looked very much like fury. Chris was also staring at Kenta. Something else was going to happen if he stayed here. Next time it was going to be worse.

  “You need to get him out of here,” said Leo. “If looks could kill. They want him dead.”

  “Including you, Mr. Newman?”

  Leo ignored the question. “You should put him in the storeroom. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  Ookami scanned the room quickly. “I think it’s a good idea.” He turned to walk away.

  “I won’t let you take him out of here before the cops come,” he added. “He needs to answer for what he’s done.”

  Ookami half-turned. “I would expect nothing else from you.”

  It was an ambiguous reply but Leo left it. “Thanks for the Scotch.”

  Ookami nodded and walked over to Kenta with the bottle. Kenta looked up at him, his face lined with streaks of congealed blood. He said something as Ookami opened the bottle. Ookami made no reply but instead tipped the bottle, splashing the liquid onto Kenta’s face.

  The man screamed as the Scotch worked its way into his cuts. Yet he tipped his head back and kept it there until Ookami stopped. Bloody whiskey ran down his face and onto the mattress.

  “Come with me,” Ookami said and turned away.

  Kenta gave Leo a quick but savage look and then rose slowly to his feet.

  “You will stay in there until I call you,” he said. “You will not speak unless I ask you a question and you will not engage in any more behavior I consider…inappropriate.”

  Kenta followed behind, his head lowered. It was a show, nothing more than a show for them all to see. Leo didn’t care, as long as Kenta was out of the room. That’s all that mattered. There was a collective deep breath as the two men walked into the storeroom.

  “He’s right about the drink,” said Chris. “I reckon we could all do with one.” He walked over to the counter and grabbed the bottle. “Mind if I go first?” He unscrewed the cap and took a small sip, swallowed and then took a much longer one. He wiped his mouth. “Good stuff.”

  One after another, they took a drink. Even Sam took a small sip, coughing with watering eyes afterward. It was impossible to know what to say in a situation like this. They were all still in shock which was hard enough to deal with as an adult, but Sam was a kid. He was here without family and now without his best friend. It was a horrible situation to be in and one for which Leo felt responsible.

  He’d already decided that when they got out of here, he was cutting his losses and getting out of town. He should have done it years ago and definitely before the Oliver kid got shot. But he’d stayed; he didn’t know how or when to quit. The story of his life.

  Chris walked over and sat down beside Sam. They were closer in age than anyone else stuck in here. Maybe they’d have something in common, something they could talk about and take Sam’s mind off Michelle. Maybe.

  Leo checked his watch. It was just after midnight. How long had they been stuck in here? It seemed like an age had passed since they carried Michael inside, since he’d brought the woman in out of the cold. Yet the reality was that only a couple of hours had passed. That meant the power company, even if they could get through the snow to fix the problem, would be hours yet. It seemed likely that the earliest they could expect to leave was the morning.

  He rubbed his eyes. He was coming down from the adrenaline surge he’d felt down in the basement. He could feel his body aching as the chemicals seeped away and were absorbed into the bloodstream. How were they going to get through this? How were they all going to make it through to the morning?

  He closed his eyes, leaning on the counter. Something told him that not everyone would be walking out of here when the power came back on.

  “Let’s try and get some rest,” he said.

  12

  “When will you ever learn, Kenta? When?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” he replied, nodding. “I’m sorry.”

  Ookami shook his head, the disappointment obvious in his eyes. “If the police come, there will be…consequences. I cannot let that happen. If I leave you to them...” He tilted his head toward the shop. “I might not be able to stop them.”

  He paused. “And so, you have left me with a problem. Your actions tonight have been unacceptable for a man in your position. You have put me and everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

  Kenta grimaced. His whole head hurt. The boxer had hit him harder than he’d ever been hit before. He actually saw stars at one point. His tongue found the place where two of his teeth had been. It was raw and smooth. He tasted blood.

  “What can I do to make it right?” he asked.

  “When the time comes, you and I will walk out of here. I’m going to need your help to do that, but until then you stay in here and keep your mouth shut. If I want you, I’ll call. Until then…”

  “And Abe?”

  Ookami turned away, taking a step toward the store. “It will be finished,” he said. “Drink the Scotch. It will help with the pain. There may be more to
come.”

  *

  Kenta must have fallen asleep. He didn’t know how that could happen. He was so cold, shivering so violently that he thought his bones were breaking. Breaking just like Sota’s. The guy must have taken some really bad shit for it to do that to him. The way his bones seemed to wobble and move around, grating against each other when they carried him, was hideous. It had made Kenta want to vomit.

  Was the same fate waiting for him too? They’d both done some lines at the club. In fact, he’d done more than Sota. The guy they’d bought it from, what was his name? Harry? He was going to have some questions to answer, but he was going to suffer too. Kenta was going to make sure of that.

  When Ookami left him earlier, he said there was going to be more pain. He knew what that meant. He wasn’t stupid. Uncle or not, Ookami had a position to think about, a role to play; just because you were family didn’t prevent the consequences for disobedience being severe. He looked at his pinkie. By tomorrow it would no longer be there. He smiled; a rite of passage.

  He took a long drink from the bottle. It was not only cold but it was dark too. The only two lamps they had were in the store with the others, and what light they gave off barely limped into the storeroom.

  At least Uncle had left him the bottle. It numbed the pain. He was going to have to get some serious dental work when he got out of here. Maybe get some gold teeth? His nose was pretty busted up too. He could feel the swelling around his eyes. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness, but he knew his vision would be restricted for quite some time. He’d get even. Even if it wasn’t tonight, he’d put the guy in his place. He’d just make sure he wasn’t close enough to throw one of those punches when he did. Christ, the guy knew how to punch.

  He shivered again, his teeth chattering. He couldn’t stay here all night – he’d freeze to death. How the hell did that woman manage? She was one fucked-up bitch. And what was it with that blanket she carried around? Cradling the baby in there like it was Jesus Christ himself. She was obviously crazy.

  Maybe she was one of Sota’s girls? The ones he took care of. He pumped them so full of heroin and meth they didn’t know which way was up anymore. They couldn’t go anywhere, didn’t know anyone, and the money they earned went straight into the organization’s pocket to pay off their drug debt. Easy money.

  She might be one that got away. Or one they threw out when she was all used up. If she had a baby, they might have just put her out on the street. Nobody wanted a pregnant hooker, least not round these parts.

  He touched his swollen lip and winced. He hadn’t meant to kill that kid. The truth of the matter was that it had been a complete fluke. He’d never shot anyone who wasn’t right in front of his face. He wasn’t a great shot, he wasn’t lousy, but he was a long way from being Ookami.

  He didn’t feel bad about it though. At least not for her, her family or that stupid goofy-looking kid she kept with her. They were insignificant compared to him, compared to what they were going to achieve. Sometimes people just got in the way. Unlucky, but that was the way it went.

  Kenta swiped his cell and lit the flashlight. There must be a blanket, an old tarp or something back here. He moved as quietly as he could, checking under boxes and crates, but there was nothing, nothing but useless junk. Not even anything worth stealing. He looked at the door in the corner. He could go upstairs and get in that nice, warm bed. That would make him feel better about the situation. He might even be able to do himself a favor and put Abe out of his misery.

  He pushed his tongue through the gap in his teeth. The bitch would start shouting and screaming as soon as he set foot up there. Then they’d all come and beat the shit out of him again. Uncle might even join in. No, he was stuck here until the…

  He could go down to the basement. There were at least two blankets he knew of down there and that woman wasn’t going to say a word. She was mentally deranged, probably withdrawing from whatever Sota had her hooked on.

  He’d take the blanket off her and then come back up here and try and sleep. If she wanted to freeze to death down there then that was her business, but there was no way he was going out like that.

  He moved to the threshold between the storeroom and the store. Someone was snoring. He could hear the low rumbling breaths of a deep sleep. There was a tangle of arms and legs on one of the mattresses – keeping each other warm, no doubt – and on the other, Ookami’s long legs. If he had his knife, he could slit their throats where they lay, wash them in one another’s blood. Including Uncle. He could just step into his shoes and carry on as if nothing had happened. That’s how it was done. There was no room for misguided sentimentality in this business.

  Kenta turned and walked to the top of the stairs. Maybe it was about time things changed anyway. He wasn’t the moron they took him for. He knew the score and he knew how to play the game. Perhaps he should take things into his own hands for a change. He smiled and took the steps down to the basement.

  The sudden drop in temperature hit him hard, almost forcing him to turn back. Nothing could live down here; it was as cold as the deep-freeze in the abattoir. Ookami had made them take some guy down there last year. He was alive when he went in, but a couple of days in there and he was as frozen as the cuts of meat hanging from the hooks in the ceiling.

  Frustration and anger drove Kenta down the last few stairs. Even Sota had managed to get a foothold in the organization and he wasn’t even blood. Who was to blame for that? It certainly wasn’t him. He did everything he was told, didn’t ask questions, and yes, he sometimes went a little too far or tried too hard but it wasn’t because he wasn’t loyal, it was because he was too loyal. He wasn’t responsible.

  So, what was it? What had kept him on the bottom rung of the ladder for so long? Ookami, that’s what. He liked having his little band of lapdogs who doted on him like he was God. He liked to see fear in their eyes, and be treated with a kind of reverence that was usually reserved only for the men in Tokyo. He was responsible. He was holding Kenta back, keeping him right where he wanted him.

  “Fuck you,” he hissed. Things were going to change. Dog eat dog.

  His foot hit the concrete slab at the bottom of the stairs and nearly went from under him. Ice had formed in a sheet across the floor. It wasn’t quite an ice rink but it wasn’t too far away. Had it got colder? He checked his cell. One-thirty. Literally the dead of night. He rubbed his face. He should be partying now, up to his balls in a bottle of twelve year old Yamazaki and a couple of Sota’s girls.

  He swept the little flashlight from side to side. They were down here somewhere. Rats. Thousands of them, scurrying about on those spindly little legs, biting, gnawing and passing diseases from one to another. He shivered, not from the cold but from the thought of it. He’d seen a documentary on National Geographic where thousands of them had been in this huge, writhing, furry ball and when the cameras got close, it broke apart and the whole floor was covered, three or four deep in the little bastards.

  He’d get the blanket and get out of there. And if she put up a fight, he knew how to shut her up. At the other end of the basement were the two dividing walls that separated the main room from the two pockets on either side. He could see the rolled-up carpet on the left and knew what was in there. That stupid girl he’d shot. There was no way he could have made that shot again. The distance, the lighting, it was all against him and yet he’d made it. What were the chances?

  He paused next to her body, just the soles of her sneakers visible. The fabric looked like it was embedded with tiny diamonds as it sparkled. A fine layer of powdery snow had formed on and around it. He looked at his own feet, following his footsteps back for ten feet or more. He frowned. How was it possible that the snow could be spreading, reaching out to the foot of the stairs? It wasn’t there yet, but it wouldn’t be long judging by how far it had gone in the last couple of hours. The snow felt strange too. Powdery. Gritty.

  He could take the rug. She didn’t need it anymore. He started t
o lower his shaking hand and stopped. A strange noise came from the other side of the wall; a crackling sound, and then wet slurping. He waited, thinking he might have only heard the wind on the street outside. But it came again. It was unpleasant.

  Sota’s body was on the other side. He didn’t know much about what happened to a human body when it died, so maybe it was natural for the corpse to decompose like that. Nevertheless, it made him cringe and close his eyes.

  The same sense of morbid curiosity that made him watch the rat documentary tickled him now. He’d seen bodies before – burned, shot, cut, frozen – but only in the immediate aftermath of the killing. He’d never seen a body that had been dead for more than a couple of hours.

  He turned away from the girl. The rug could wait. He’d take a look at Sota, take the blanket off the weird woman and then get out of there. There was a chance Sota might have something in his pockets to help him see the rest of the night through in relative peace. The guy normally carried his own personal stash around with him. Kenta’s spirits lifted. He’d be warm, high and happy.

  He stepped around the wall and stopped. The snow was knee-deep, dense and brilliant. He’d never seen snow like it. City snow was gray and slushy, dirty and wet. This was beautiful, like a scene from the folk tales Grandmother Hisako read to him as a child. His mom had translated the words into English so he could understand but they always sounded better in Japanese, even if he didn’t follow them.

  He lifted the cell phone, following the snow deeper into the alcove. It was drifting, becoming deeper and deeper. Just as the power of the little light failed, he detected movement. He squinted into the darkness. The flashlight’s beam was gray, giving off an indistinct light that gave everything an ethereal, ghostly feel.

  The same sound crackled again. His mind conjured up a dark fairy tale forest, twigs and leaves scattered around on the ground. Perhaps a lonely traveler stepping on the twigs, breaking them like brittle bones.